


The Height of Professionalism

by AmunetMana



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bromance, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Fake Dating, Family Dinners, Gen, Hellicarrier, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humour, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multi, Unsanctioned paintball fights, bunk beds, surprisingly not friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana
Summary: Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton are highly trained, seasoned agents of SHIELD. They conduct themselves with the utmost professionalism, and would never do anything to compromise the integrity of their roles....No, really.Tumblr prompt: “Just pretend to be my date, okay?”





	The Height of Professionalism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplecho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecho/gifts).



> I am always very insecure about writing humour. Angst is typically my go to, and what I'm best at. Nonetheless, hope you enjoy!

"Oh come on," Clint wheedled, hanging upside down from the top bunk of the bed. "It'll be hilarious." His shirt flopped down, revealing his bellybutton in the process.

 

Natasha shot him a look, wandering out from the tiny en suite in her underwear, heading for the bag she'd left on the bottom bunk. SHIELD accommodation didn't typically have bunkbeds. In fact, they never had bunk beds. Unless Natasha was sharing with Clint, at which point, there was  _always_ a bunkbed. She narrowed her eyes at the bed, before pulling a towel out of the bag. She had her suspicions, of course, but so far it remained questionably difficult to prove. Which, in itself, somewhat supported her suspicions. She hated when people were as good at their jobs as she was at hers.

 

"It's not for a mission," Natasha replied, towelling her hair. "Why on earth would I pretend to be your date if it's not for a mission?"

 

It was just about the furthest thing from a mission, no matter how much Steve jokingly-not-jokingly referred to team dinners as mandatory bonding exercises. Maybe that was just what he needed to tell himself to stop from staring at Tony like a wounded puppy when Tony gave his customary protests and attempted to abscond to his workshop. Fairly drastic overcompensation there, but who was Natasha to judge?

 

Clint gave a sigh, exaggerated and accompanied with an eye roll as he swung himself back up, nearly smacking his head on the ceiling as he went. Natasha cocked an eyebrow.

 

"They all think we're dating," Clint pointed out, "and it would be funny - you know, funny, that thing humans feel, not sure if you're familiar with it - " Natasha threw her towel at him " - if we sort of...upped the ante. You know. Leaned into it." Just in case she didn't grasp his meaning, Clint gave a helpful waggle of his eyebrows.

 

Natasha considered. "If they already think we're dating, we don't actually have to do any pretending," she reasoned. "They're already doing all the work for us." It was one of her small pleasures. Watching the people around her do her job for her. Like when she'd thrown Happy in the ring not five minutes after meeting Tony, and still remained undetected right up until she'd walked up to him in full SHIELD field uniform and announced it. It was a fond memory.

 

What _wasn't_ a pleasure, however, were relationships. Fake or otherwise. She'd spent long enough watching Clint drift from woman to woman, to Coulson, back to women, and back to Coulson again, to be not only sure, but constantly and consistently reassured that relationships were not in fact worth the hassle. Really, Clint was doing her a service, but in doing so he was not helping his argument.

 

“Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “it’s against SHIELD regulations to be in a relationship with a co-worker.” Not that that had ever stopped anyone. Not that that had ever stopped _Clint_.

 

Clint upgraded his dramatic sighing to loud groaning.

 

"You are no fun," he complained. "None. At all. Whatsoever."

 

"I played paintball with you entirely in the air vents of the Hellicarrier last Tuesday," Natasha pointed out, reasonably in her opinion. It had been fantastic. They'd both come crashing down in the middle of a conference between Nick and the World Security Council, and had the pleasure of hearing four heads of state shriek like children. Nick had herded them out of the room, reprimanding them sternly, only to dissolve into what Clint had described repeatedly, emphatically, as cackles as soon as the soundproofed door was closed. He’d them proceeded to give them each a twenty. "That was fun."

 

"That was just good decision making," Clint countered. "Come on. For me. It's my birthday."

 

"Your birthday is over three months away."

 

"It's _almost_ my birthday."

 

"Three months, Clint."

 

Clint really did smack his head this time, throwing himself back dramatically onto the top bunk. Natasha considered fetching some ice or a med kit for Clint, but then remembered he'd never given her towel back, and so left him to suffer. Instead, she sat herself down on the bottom bunk, scooting back until her back was against the wall, and her legs stretched out ahead of her. She flexed her toes, idly, the phantom sensation of ribbon against her ankles and blocks at her toes echoing back from scars and callouses that still remained on her prone feet.

 

"...what, exactly, makes you think _they_ think we're a couple?" she asked finally, slowly. She could guess some of the reasons, obviously, but her teammates' opinion of hers and Clint's relationship hadn't been relevant, and therefore hadn't been top priority to investigate. She was slightly miffed at the realisation that she had less than the full picture she always prided herself on having. Luckily, Clint either noticed none of her internal torment, or knew her well enough to not comment. He leant over the rail once more, so he was peering at Natasha from a swiftly reddening face.

 

"Well, there's all the touching for one," he began. Natasha nodded - she was aware of that. Just that weekend they’d been wandering about with her hand stuck in Clint’s back pocket. "Then there's the fact that we are literally always together."

 

"Not always," Natasha interjected, "I left you in bed this morning to get to the mess hall ahead of the crowd."

 

"I know," Clint muttered. "You didn't even bother to save any miniature pastries for me."

 

Natasha gestured dismissively, and Clint narrowed his eyes at her. She made another, vaguely apologetic gesture to encourage him on. His eyes narrowed further, before a smile threatened the corner of his lips.

 

"They're also maybe under the impression that when we share a room, we're sharing a room with a double bed," he told her smugly. Natasha blinked. Glanced up, glanced down. Well.

 

"Double bed is an interesting description for a bunk bed," she said dryly.

 

Clint’s grinned, "It's not inaccurate."

 

"It's not accurate either," Natasha pointed out, but she was grinning too. "Fine. So, given all that - we're always together, we're in each other's pockets, and we share a room and - sort of - a bed." She leant forward, propping her chin up on her hands. "Just what are you proposing when you ask me to pretend to be your date?"

 

Clint's grin threatened to split his face, "I thought you'd never ask."

 

~

 

And that was how Natasha found herself hanging off of Clint’s arm as they staggered into the Avenger Tower’s dining room, giggling like the drunken idiots they were not. Followed by the pleasure of hearing an entirely separate group of men shriek like children, as Clint abruptly threw her bodily onto the table, and proceeded to ravish her, to quote, like a heroine in a pirate romance. All to the loud declaration of "Natasha, my love, my light, I cannot hold myself back any longer!" Her legs had been up around his waist. They knocked a glass off the table at some point, and Natasha still couldn’t find one of the shoes she’d worn.

 

Natasha had only been vaguely aware of Nick Fury entering the room sometime during the whole debacle, but didn't pay it much mind. But even she couldn't help letting out a laugh when she returned to her shared room with Clint, to find another wad of cash left bundled on her pillow. Natasha grinned, flipping through the bills. Perhaps there really were benefits to being in a relationship with a co-worker.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider prompting me on my tumblr: thevoidbetweenmyears.tumblr.com
> 
> Or buying me a ko-fi!  
> https://ko-fi.com/amunetmana


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